


Lite-Brite

by SxyMo0finMan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, Falling Angels, Gen, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Season Eight finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SxyMo0finMan/pseuds/SxyMo0finMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the sky falls around them, the Winchesters watch in awe. That is until one dick without wings plummets to Earth a little too close for Dean’s comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lite-Brite

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Lite-Brite  
> Author: SxyMo0finMan  
> Rating: T for language  
> Word Count: 1,005  
> Author’s Note: Saw the post below made by jensenspudgymidway on tumblr and couldn’t resist. Please enjoy :)
> 
> "jensenspudgymidway:
> 
> Instead of the beautiful, peaceful ending like we got, what if all the angels were falling and one just slams right into the impala? They cut to black and you hear Dean yell, “SON OF A BITCH!”"

The sky is alight with fire. There are stars falling, pelting the cold earth. Bodies lie in the dirt, wings charred into the ground, and their backs are badly scarred. They litter the ground everywhere, the sound of their impact as loud as thunderclaps.

Dean is watching as they fall, watching as he holds his brother up. Sam is weak, maybe dying, yet he can’t seem to bring himself to fully care. All he sees are the tiny dots of celestial light growing bigger in the black canvass that is the night sky as they paint a streak here and a starburst there, like a fucked up Van Gogh on an over powered Lite-Brite that’s prone to shorting out. It’s oddly beautiful, in a cataclysmic kind of way.

The two brothers cant their heads back further, watching with mouths agape as the sky rips open and spits out those on high. Some niggling sense in the back of Dean’s head tells him that he and Sam need to get out of the open, but he’s paralyzed. Cas is out there, somewhere out in the middle of this mess. Who knows, Castiel could’ve been the dick with _out_  wings that had plummeted through the cathedral roof not too long ago, the building’s walls now smoldering lightly. Another angel had hit the dirt somewhere in the field, the sparks and shower of earth covering quite a distance so that the brothers’ faces were now slick with sweat and grime, the Impala’s side no longer a shiny black.

“Sam,” Dean says quietly at first, but opts for shouting seconds later, calling out “Sammy!” as he shakes his little brother lightly to get his attention. It takes Sam a while to snap back together, his eyes rolling slowly from the heavens to look at Dean. His eyes are ringed with red and look cloudy, that alone setting the fire under Dean’s ass to get them moving to safety. Sammy looks like  _hell_.

“We gotta get out of the open!” Dean says, shaking Sam again so that Sam is batting at him with his big gorilla like hands, muttering that he heard Dean and to leave him be. Sam pushes off from the side of the car to turn and open the backseat door, but nearly topples over so that Dean has to catch him, a hand flat against Sam’s chest with the other arm wrapped around his hulking frame.

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Dean says with strain, putting one of Sam’s arms around his neck to help support the big lug. He slowly turns, but getting Sam to move is like dragging him through thick molasses, his feet barely turning in the dirt. Dean winces when Sam falls against him, a move that almost has both of them in the dirt since Dean is reaching for the handle and already off balance.  He looks up to yell at Sam, to get him to focus on what he is doing and to stay connected with the here and now, but he doesn’t have the chance. There is a ball of fire hurtling towards them, a body twisting in the inferno.

Dean grabs Sam around the middle and pushes away from the Impala, sending them both to the ground. He drags Sam away from the car, hands hooked under his brother’s arm pits. Sam is trying his damnedest to move himself, but it is going slow and he isn’t entirely sure what is happening. Dean looks up at the last second and he watches as the angel crashes into the hood of the car, sparks flying through the air and pelting the two brothers so that Sam is cursing from the tiny prickles of heat that sizzle against his skin and burn through the leg of his pants.

After the smoke clears and the after images in Dean’s eyes have gone away, he sits there stunned. His baby is dented, a body lying on what used to be the roof. The four side windows had shattered when the hood had concaved, the windshield folding inward with spider web like cracks running throughout it and looking almost like melted plastic instead of glass. There is smoke pouring through the open spaces, the faint scent of leather burning wafting through the air. Sam turns over and sits so that his arms are out behind him to prop himself up, his eyes wide as he takes in the Impala’s state. He turns to Dean, who is staring at the old muscle car, eyes unblinking and mouth slack.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says softly, eyes finally closing in a slow blink. Sam eases back onto his elbows when he’s sure Dean isn’t having a stroke. There is nothing much to do, but watch as Dean moves so that he is on his hands and knees, crawling towards the Impala’s smoking chassis. Sam hears his brother mutter his choice phrase again, this time with a little more vehemence. Dean is now on his feet, peering through a gaping hole that had once been the back windshield. He puts his hands on the trunk so he can lean in forward, but immediately he jerks them off the heated metal. It is a good thing that he did, too, because fire erupts from the back seat from where the angel’s grace had torched the leather seat the most, the smoke, thick and oily, rolling out to greet Dean. Dean backs away from the Impala, nose buried deep into the crook of his elbow, a hand held up to block the heat from his face. His eyes water, yet he can’t stop giving his baby a bug-eyed stare.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean shouts, turning on his heel to face Sam, but Sam can’t see him in the smoke. His vision is blurring, his head is growing heavy. Dean gestures widely to his car for a moment, his lips flapping as he shouts about his baby, but it is all lost on Sam as he slowly fades into unconsciousness.


End file.
